Identity
by Mischievous.Eyes.9
Summary: Eight years ago, Marissa Cooper died. Her family and friends have said their goodbyes and moved on, but what happens when everything changes and their goodbyes become null and void?
1. Mistaken

He smelled like whiskey. He always smelled like whiskey. Sweet and young, eighteen years old, and yet alcohol always bogged down his breath. He should have been on his way to Harvard; they should have been buying tickets to Cambridge. Sheets. Mini-Fridges. Bedding. That had been the plan, yet for some reason all the plans made in his family seemed to get washed wayside. For eight years he had been keeping a secret, for eight years he had been protecting his mother, the only family he had left, but not anymore. He would finally be free.

The room was damp and dusty, things scattered all over the floor: books and magazines. Her eccentric brother was at it again. He had carried their mom on his shoulders for longer than she could remember. Her younger brother, her hero, had finally cracked. Her Dartmouth tee shirt clung to her protruding bones. Sweat. She walked to the recliner he hadn't left in days. "Anderson, get up." She demanded, "I miss her too. She was my mother too, but you don't see me mourning like this."

He took a sip from his square bottle. "You don't understand. You can't understand."

"Why not?" She asked clearing away a spot on the couch behind her. "Why can't I understand?"

"Because you don't remember," he replied. "You don't remember the day she lost her mind. You don't remember Cassidy."

She looked her brother in his eyes, pale blue. She stared intently at his stubble, she watched the way he ran a hand under his chin. Tears welled in her eyes. Her mother had lost it, and her brother, all she had left, was following in her footsteps. "Andy, I'm Cassidy. You know that."

"She said that I had to keep quiet. Dad was dead. Harrison was dead. Megan was dead and Cassidy was…" he began, stopping to catch his breath. "I was ten and she had been gone for months, they took her away, said she might not be stable and if they knew what she did. If they knew what she did, they would have taken me away. I'd never get her back. I was ten years old and I was all she had and you, you looked like her. You were her spitting image."

"I don't… I don't understand what you're saying." A frog took hold of her throat and refused to let go.

"The hospital screwed up. You both came in at the same time and the hospital was overcrowded. They pronounced this girl dead, this rich California girl. We hadn't seen you yet, we didn't know, we were stuck on the highway, rushing and rushing, and they pronounced this girl dead. By the time we got there, it was too late, her mother was hysterical and somehow they talked her into donating the organs. I'm talking eyes; skin, everything, and she refused to see her first. She refused to see her own daughter, thought it would be better if she kept the memory she had. Funny thing is that if she had looked at her, the whole story would have went differently."

"What does this have to do with anything? Andy?"

He took another sip from his liquor and ignored her. "The moment I saw your face, I knew. She knew too, she was just disillusioned. Everyone was dead and gone. Cassidy and I were all she had. I knew that, so I played along. It wasn't our mistake it was the hospitals'. I just thought that when you woke up, you would revolt. I thought you would say that we were frauds. I thought you would know we weren't your family, but you didn't remember.

"And I was terrified of losing mother. I was terrified of losing all the family I had left, so I played along and hoped that you'd remember. They said that old items and pictures could help you, but we couldn't do that. She couldn't have you remembering, so we moved, played with Photoshop, and claimed fire when we couldn't account for things. I always thought you'd find out, always tried to drop hints, but at the same time I was scared they'd take her away and I started to like you. I started to pretend you were her and slowly I became terrified that'd I'd lose both of you.

"But, you see, I got older and I started to realize what we were doing was wrong. Terrible. Horrible. I couldn't tell you, she would have killed me. You became her golden child. Her perfect little angel, so in my spare time I investigated your family, hoping that when the time finally came and she was gone I could tell you the truth. I didn't know when that would be and I was starting to break, but then she took herself out of the picture."

"Anderson!" She exclaimed. "Look at me! I'm Cassidy Lynette Parker. I was born in Reno to Harriet and John Parker. Graduated the Sage Ridge School, which I attended on an academic scholarship. Postponed college for a year after my accident and have been flourishing ever since."

"You only think that because you don't remember." He interjected. "You don't remember jack-squat."

"Yes I do." She retorted.

"Then how come you don't know that you're not my fucking sister?" He sat up straight and stared deep into her eyes. She shook her head. "You're not my sister. Your mother gave away her organs eight years ago."

"Right." She played along. "So if I am not your sister, then who the hell am I?"

His lips clenched shut and after a minute had passed, slowly she received an answer. "Cooper. Marissa Cooper born on May 4, 1988 to Jimmy and Julie in Newport Beach, California. Your mother has been married three times and your father has a few run ins with the law. You have a younger sister named Kaitlin. Throughout your teenage years you experimented with drugs and alcohol. You were driven off the road by a crazed ex-boyfriend the night of graduation. He's in jail."

"Drugs and alcohol? Crazed ex-boyfriend? Constantly marrying mother?" She scoffed, "You've been watching too much daytime television."

"Cooper. Marissa Cooper." He repeated.

"No. Cassidy Lynette Parker."

"Cooper. Marissa Cooper." He was a brick wall, unyielding.

"No!" She repeated, before pausing. "You know what; I'll play this game with you. Show me some evidence." She crossed her legs and straightened her shirt. "Where is your proof?"

He looked over at the end table to his right and played with the items atop it. He moved some things around and let a few old bottles drop onto the floor. He was stalling. After a minute he had something poised between his fingers, it was bent down the middle, a white line embedded in it. He handed it to her. "The woman on the left is your mother, on the right is your father, and in the middle is - that's you."

"I don't understand." She stammered. "T-this doesn't make sense."

"Mistaken identity." He chugged some of the golden brown liquid. "They mistook you for my sister and my sister for you. You had the same height, same build, and same hair color; must have been a one in a million chance. A chance my mother took advantage of."

"But." she said simply.

"I'm sorry." He said, leaning toward her. He placed a hand on her knee. "I'm so sorry." Tears started to fall from his eyes. "We kidnapped you. We took you from your family and for that I can never forgive myself. Never."

"I don't - I don't believe you." She stood up and quickly ran towards the door. "I can't."

"Never."


	2. Perfect

_Chapter Two: Perfect_

* * *

The water poured down, fast and steady. She stared into her hand. Who was she? Was she Cassidy? Was she Marissa? Was her brother crazy? She didn't know. The first thing she really remembered was her mother's hand caressing hers. "Cassidy, they're going to take you for some tests, okay?"

The voice wasn't familiar in anyway shape or form, but at the same time, nothing was familiar. They told her she was at Garden Grove Hospital in Santa Ana. Her head ached. Her legs hurt. She was completely uncomfortable. At that moment, all she knew was that she wanted her father. "Honey, he died months ago, remember?" She didn't.

Anderson's picture haunted her mind. Was that man her father? And if so, was he dead? She was twenty-six. She was smart and successful, and yet, she still longed for a father, still needed a mother. The woman who had been there for eight years was lacking something. Something she had wanted for so long. She wanted a mother who had her sanity; a mother who wasn't bipolar, who didn't break down at the drop of the hat, and who hadn't hung herself in the end.

* * *

She had her mother's eyes, perfectly curved and brown. She had her father's smile. When they first saw her they noted that she was amazing, spectacular, perfect. Now, she was three and a half years old and precocious. She opened the door to her parent's room. "Wakey. Wakey. Eggs and Bakey." She sang. They stirred. "Wakey. Wakey." She said louder.

"It's five in the morning." Her father groaned pushing a pillow over his face. "Five."

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five." She counted using her fingers as a guide.

He smiled. "Come here," he called, opening his arms wide. "Your mother's still asleep."

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk." She clicked, walking over to their bed. "Bad beauty sleep." She hoisted herself onto the mattress and sat in her father's arm.

"How do you suggest we wake her up Poison Ivy?"

His daughter shook her head. "Ivy bad."

"Sorry." He apologized. "How do you suggest we wake her up Dinah Drake?"

"Shake." The little girl said with glee. Her father put a hand on his wife and did as she requested.

"Huh. What? Why?" She muttered. Her eyes opened and she looked towards the clock. "Why?"

"Isla." Seth replied.

"What's wrong baby?" Summer questioned looking at her daughter. "Bad dream."

"No. Good dream." The child said softly. "We need family meeting."

Summer and Seth looked at each other in confusion. "Why do we need a family meeting?" Summer asked.

"And why does it have to be before seven?" Her father added.

"Just thought," she shrugged. She looked over at her mom and smiled, her pearly whites shinning bright. "Babies. We need to talk about babies."

"At five in the morning?" Seth questioned.

"Uh-huh." She nodded. "Taylor's having baby. Waffles had a baby. We need one too, a boy. Girl's nice too, but I want a boy."

"You want a brother?" Her mother questioned.

"Yes. A baby brother, I can push the stroller, read him books, and play with him. He'd be fun." Seth smirked as he imagined his daughter, who occasionally held books upside down, reading to a baby.

"What if we're not ready?" Summer asked.

"No for you. I want brother. I choose." Isla said.

"No, no, you don't choose." Seth told her, "That decision is totally up to us and right now, we say no."

"Maybe in a few years." Her mother tried to lift her spirits.

"Fine," she said, getting ready to climb down. "But we need baby."

"Isla, honey. Come back over here." Her mother said, patting the space in between her and her husband. "You can stay with us in case you have any more issues."

The little girl smiled.

* * *

Taylor put a hand on her abdomen; she was five months pregnant and already ready for the child to be born. She didn't know the sex, Ryan did, but he had been sworn to secrecy. She looked down at her hand, the ring looked perfect against her skin. They had been married a year, but the little green emeralds and perfectly cut diamond never ceased to make her smile. "Mrs. Atwood." She said softly. "Taylor Atwood."

She slowly put her feet on the ground and walked into the kitchen. The cool hardwood floor felt good beneath her feet. "I thought I told you to stay in bed?" He questioned as she took a seat at their small dinning room table.

"You did, but I got bored." She noticed the tray on the counter. "Oh my God. Ryan Atwood was going to bring me breakfast in bed and my perpetual boredom screwed it up!" She frowned. "You're the sweetest guy ever and I always seem to ruin those little things you try and do. Do you think that I have some psychological block that prevents me from accepting your cheesy, romantic gestures?"

"I'm starting to." He said softly, flipping a spatula. "And they're not cheesy."

"That's not what I meant. I meant thoughtful and caring."

"Those are better words."

"I've got to get better at doing what I'm told," she sighed.

"I like that you don't always listen to me."

"Weird thing to say."

"Kind of is." He replied, plating the breakfast he had made for her, "But it makes life more interesting and that's always…"

"Good." She said for him. He nodded, bringing the plate to his pregnant wife. She kissed his cheek when he bent down. "Good."

* * *

In Anderson's picture the woman had auburn hair and wore designer clothes. In its own way, it reminded her of the picture she kept in her office from the day she graduated Dartmouth. Everyone wore the best dressy casual ware - designer, perfect. Everyone smiled too. In reality, her mother rarely smiled. She wondered if that woman was faking it too.

She focused her gaze on the showerhead and used a hand to frame her face. She felt the ridge in her nose. She felt her wet cheeks. She could taste the saline near her mouth. There was a knock on the door. "Cassidy, baby, you've been in there for an hour. You coming out soon?" She didn't know. She didn't care.

"Yeah." She yelled back at him, tracing her forehead. "Soon."

She heard a distant voice in her head. "I just want you to know, that everything I ever did. Good, bad, or otherwise. I did it for you. So that you could have a better life than I had, and I know I wasn't perfect." It sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it.

Her head ached.


	3. Dead

_Chapter Three: Dead_

* * *

She was tangled in the sheets, tossing and turning. He wanted to reach out and touch her. He wanted to gently shake her awake. He wanted to kiss her forehead and say whatever it was, it'd be okay. The white sheets had almost turned translucent from her sweat. He watched her, waiting for some sign that she needed to be woken up. He had learned long ago that you didn't wake up Cassidy Parker unless the situation was dire.

Her mouth opened, but her eyes stayed clenched shut. "Ryan," she said quietly, mouth dry. "Ryan." He stared at her blankly. His girlfriend saying another man's name in her sleep was not a good sign. "Ryan, he's got a gun." She said louder. "A gun."

This was just the sign he needed. He put a hand on her back and shook her awake. "Babe, you're having a nightmare. Wake up."

"Huh?" She said as her eyes slowly opened, "What happened?"

"You were thrashing around and talking about some guy named Ryan." He paused, "And a gun." He took a deep breath, and put a hand on hers. She was burning up. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know." She rubbed her temples. "I honestly don't know."

"What's wrong?" He asked. "You've been acting weird all week. You can tell me."

She put a hand on her throat and took a deep breath. She desperately needed water. "I know," she said simply, turning to look her boyfriend in the eye. "You love me, right?"

His blue orbs iced over. Was she really asking that? He had followed her out to Chicago. He had given up a safe job to do freelance work. He had held her in his arms all night when her mother died. He had put everything on hold to help organize the funeral. Of course he loved her. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Just answer the question." She demanded. This wasn't reality, wasn't fantasy. It was a waking-dream.

"Yes." He said softly, "More than I've ever loved anyone."

She sat up straight. "What if it turned out that I wasn't who I said I was? What if it turned out that everything I told you about my past was a lie?" She could feel tears rising to the surface. "Would you still love me?"

"I love you, not your past."

"Good." She ran a hand through her hair, "Because I have to go away for a while."

"Care to elaborate?"

She put her feet on the ground and stood up straight. She traced her face with her right hand. She felt the ridge of the nose and the soft flesh of her cheeks. She bit her lip. "I have to figure out who I am."

* * *

_Ryan Atwood hated a lot of things, but Santa Ana was on the top of his list. When he entered that old building his heart sank. There were gurneys everywhere, people everywhere. Some were coughing. Some were crying. Some were praying. Some were stones; he was pretty sure the stones were dead._

_An emergency medical technician patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry man." He said softly. "She flat lined, that means she'll be back there in a matter of minutes." He pointed to those swinging doors that made and destroyed futures._

_The EMT had been right. Marissa had gotten past those heavy doors in no time at all. He stayed by her side as long as he could. At one point, she even woke up. She saw him and smiled. He smiled back at her, but she didn't show any other signs of recognition. "Pretty lights," she said. Had she even noticed him? He put that thought aside. It didn't matter. She woke up. She spoke. That was a good sign, wasn't it?_

_Julie Cooper's mascara was running; black lines made a path down her cheeks. When he saw her, he leaned back into his chair. He prayed he wouldn't have to comfort her. He wasn't good at things like that. This was the most emotional he had ever seen her. He had come to think of Mrs. Cooper-Nichol as an ice-queen, a heartless bitch, he didn't want to admit it, but seeing her like that, made him think more of her. Seeing her like that almost made him smile. "How is she?" She asked her voice muffled by her tears._

_"I don't know," he said becoming more worried with each passing second "They wouldn't tell me anything. I'm not a relative. I'm not her boyfriend, fiancé, or husband." He paused. "I'm nobody."_

_"Why didn't you lie?" She scolded. "You should have lied."_

_"I know." He said quietly. "I just couldn't." He looked around. Where was Kaitlin? Where was Seth? Where was Summer? Where was everyone?_

_When the doctor came out, they were sitting in silence. Julie was trying to clean up her mascara track-marks and Ryan was trying not to think of Volchok, because thoughts of him brought thoughts of knives and guns. When he verified who they were, Ryan could see it in his eyes. He didn't have to say a word._

_His throat closed up. His eyes clamped shut. He should have pulled over faster. He should have been a better defensive driver, he was the reason she was dead. Her blood was still on his hands._

* * *

The porch was made of stone, it was hard and cold, but she didn't mind. She was confronting her demons, taking her life on headfirst. She closed her eyes and inhaled. The air in Berkeley was unlike the air anywhere she had ever been. She looked down at her hand. It was red and numb. She had slammed it into the oak door, over and over again, hoping someone would answer. They hadn't.

She ran it through her hair, trying to regain circulation. She closed her eyes; everything was fuzzy. The past was coming back but not fast enough, not well enough, and it was making the past eight less and less clear. She felt her heart; it was beating at the speed of light.

Behind her the door opened, she looked back. Auburn hair. Designer clothes. "Do I know you?" She asked, her voice childish. "Should I know who you are?" The woman just stared back at her, silent, terrified.

Her head ached. Her body felt cold and numb. She fell back onto the porch and put a hand to her head. Her stomach churned. "Oh God," she murmured.


	4. Tearful

_Chapter Four: Tearful_

* * *

They had been too late to say goodbye, to say their final farewells. Yesterday was graduation day. Today was a day of mourning. Seth held her in his arms. He gently rocked her back and forth like a baby, like a doll. He whispered, "Shh," in her ear. He would make a good father.

The tears were still flowing down her cheeks. It had been hours, but the waterworks hadn't stopped. She could feel Seth's grip tighten. It made her nauseous. She needed someone to blame. Volchok was too easy. Volchok was too far away. Seth was her scapegoat. It was his fault. If it hadn't have been for that stupid box, his stupid cardboard box, she would have been able to see her friend one last time. She would have had closure. She bit her lip. It had to be his fault.

He was the reason she felt numb inside. He was the reason her room felt as cramped as that goddamn box. He played with her hair. He kissed the back of her head. He tried to express his love for her, but it didn't matter. It was too late. She had let her head get the best of her.

She spotted a picture of Marissa on her desk – her best friend, the only person who had been there for her as long as she could remember. She averted her gaze. She closed her eyes. "So long, farewell, auf weidersehen, goodbye." She muttered.

* * *

"Mother," Isla yelled. "Mother. Mother Mary."

Seth glared at her. "I don't think you're supposed to say Mother Mary."

"Why?" She questioned, turning to look her father in the eye.

"You might offend somebody."

"Why?" His daughter repeated.

"Because of some religious cornerstone I don't know about. The only thing I know about Christianity, is that Christmas is the best holiday anyone could have invented, and Chrismukkah is the best holiday only I could have invented."

"Point?" Isla questioned, running a hand through her thick black hair.

"You might offend somebody."

"Oh," she said softly, refocusing her gaze to the stairs. "Mother."

Summer walked into the kitchen, eyes half open. It was three in the morning; she was not supposed to be up at three in the morning. Isla smiled at her. "Coffee?" The little girl asked.

"Coffee." Her mother nodded. "This has to break the laws of physics."

Seth handed his wife a bright yellow mug. "It's a good thing you never took physics."

"Why would that be Cohen?" She took a sip from the cup.

"Because, if you had, you couldn't whine using expressions like, "This has to break the laws of physics."

"I wasn't aware that was an expression," she replied smugly.

"Children." Isla interrupted, banging a hand on the table. "No fighting." Her parents stared at her. "No fighting," she repeated, headstrong.

"Isla," her mother said in mock-anger. "No slamming your hands into the table"

The three year-old put her hands on her hips. "Grandma and grandpa aren't going to like to hear that you fight." She tapped her fingers on the table, "Not one bit."

"Grandma and grandpa aren't going to like to hear that we let a three year-old counsel us." Seth muttered.

Isla glared at him. "I'm three and a half," she retorted.

"I'm sorry. I round down."

His dark haired princess shrugged. "We go to Berkeley now?"

"Soon Leia. Soon." He said with a smile.

* * *

_She was twenty-three, this wasn't supposed to be happening. She had just graduated from college. She had just gotten married. She had just gotten a job. She wasn't supposed to be pregnant. She wasn't supposed to have a baby growing inside her. This wasn't the plan._

_She could imagine Seth's neurotic rambling after being told. She could imagine Taylor over-analyzing everything and bringing the conversation to sex. She had almost gotten herself into this situation before and Taylor had been the one to buy her the test. Taylor had been the one to ask her about condoms and birth control. She didn't need Taylor asking those questions again. No. She no longer cared that latex smelled funny. No. She no longer cared about pharmaceutical companies messing with her eggs. All she cared about was preventing the creation of a seven-pound infant. Too late._

_She could imagine Ryan grunting and telling her congratulations, with that smile only Ryan had. She didn't want that smile to congratulate her. She didn't want to have a sex talk. She didn't want to hear neurotic rambling. She wanted someone to say something like, "Oh shit. I guess that's a good thing, right?" She wanted someone to question the situation with her. Marissa would have questioned the situation with her._

_Summer looked at the tombstone. She traced the letters with her index finger. "I tried to convince myself that it was his fault I never got to say that final goodbye. I tried to tell myself that everything was his fault, but then, I saw a psychiatrist and had to confront the real issue. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't really anyone's fault. I mean, it was Volchok's, but I try not to think about him. We couldn't have saved you and Seth couldn't have made it any easier on me. It was fate."_

_She looked down. "Stupid fate." She sighed, "I should come here more often, I miss talking to you." She rubbed her foot in the grass; she was wearing Seth's Converses. Fashion faux pas. "I'm going to tell you this first. You can keep a secret right?" She smirked. God, she felt dumb. "I'm pregnant." She pointed to her stomach, "This is his fault."_

* * *

She woke up lying on some couch she had never seen. She moved a hand to her head. Was this what a migraine felt like? She wanted to stand up and walk towards the door. She had inconvenienced someone. Who had she inconvenienced? The woman with auburn hair stared at her from across the room, intent on getting some sort of answer.

What did you say to a woman who stared at you like that? She sighed. "My name is Cassidy Lynette Parker. I was born in Reno on March 8, 1988. I have a younger brother. Everyone else is dead." The words fell from her mouth like vomit.

"No." The woman said softly, noting that the blonde in front of her had been trying to convince herself that those words were true. "Your name is Marissa Cooper. You have a younger sister and a much younger brother. And even your great grandmother is still alive."

Tears fell down her cheeks. The auburn haired woman put a hand on her shoulder, "I'd know this face anywhere." She said softly. "And I know I didn't give birth to twins." She joined the crying fest.

Maybe it was good news.


	5. Larger

_**Chapter Five: Larger**_

* * *

"_You love her, don't you?" She said softly, cowering from her boyfriend's lips. Her hands shivered. It was raining. They were standing in the rain, they were standing in the rain some place beautiful; it should have been the stuff romantic movies were made of. He stayed silent._

_She repeated. "You love her, don't you?"_

"_Marissa's dead." He replied, pulling her closer to his chest. They hadn't been dating too long. The craziness before the earthquake, was a relationship, in a way, sure, but they were finally doing it right. She was ruining it._

"_That doesn't answer the question. You can love someone who's dead Ryan. You can love someone who's in a coma. Death is a state, you're not in that state, and thus, you can dwell on the past." She tugged at her shirt. It was crooked. "Do you love her?"_

_He sighed. "I loved her. She was my first love, but when she died, we weren't together. We hadn't been together in months and when we were together, we just didn't work. It didn't work. And after she died, I felt like it was my fault. Not just because of our history, not because I was hung up on her, just because of everything, the context, everything. She wasn't just a girlfriend. She was one of my best friends."_

"_Can you just answer the question?" She bit her lip. She could feel the rain spreading the mascara down her cheeks. "I know, I'm crazy. I know, I know, I know. I just, I tend to get screwed over. And it's probably too late to be asking this, but I love you. I really do, and I'd rather know if you're going to break my heart now." She laughed slightly. "Before I become a two-time divorcee whore." She paused, her eyes went wide. "Not that I'm insinuating we'll get married. It's just, that's what's at the end of the road."_

"_Part of me still loves her." Taylor pushed away from him meekly, but Ryan used his strength to pull her back in. He whispered in her ear, "But, I love you more."_

_Taylor smiled. "Really?"_

"_Really."_

"_You promise?" She asked, running a tongue over her ruby red lips._

"_I promise." She stared into his blue eyes, hypnotized. She wanted to lunge at him. She wanted to straddle him on the ground. Cosmic, passionate eruption, it was all she could think about; but she was going to slow down for once. They were going to take things one-step at a time._

* * *

She pulled her hair into a bun. A few stands dangled before her eyes. She stared at herself in the mirror, she didn't feel like a herself. She didn't feel like a sex goddess. She felt awkwardly shaped. She didn't like that feeling. She held the tote bag close to her chest. She maneuvered it in front of her stomach. She felt better, smaller; magically skinnier.

He walked out into the living room, a towel poised perfectly around his waist. She stared at him deviously. She wished she had telekinetic powers that could make the towel fall away. Stupid hormones. This was no time for such a thing. "Did you get it?" He asked, combing his wet hair with his fingers.

"Of course." She said, her voice somewhat bitter, "Aidan would have killed me too. A promise is a promise, and Aidan Atwood doesn't take too kindly to broken promises."

"No, he doesn't." Ryan agreed, "Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing." She shook her head, avoiding the mirror. "Nothing except," she paused. "Some woman, some random, woman came up to me in the store and did that whole stomach touching thing."

"And we don't like it when people touch your stomach?" He said, half asking, half telling.

"Oh no, we really don't like it." She averted her gaze, she knew she was going to ask a caustic question.

"No. You don't look fat." He read her mind. "You look very nice. You glow."

"I glow?" She raised an eyebrow. "That's just another way of saying I look fat."

"No, it's not." He laughed. "I don't think I can talk you out of this fat thing, but if it's any consolation, your breasts have never looked better."

She turned in the direction of the mirror. "I suppose you're right."

"What's it like outside?"

"Dark," she told him. "Very dark. It's very early. Too early and when we have a kid, it'll just be earlier."

"In that case, Summer and Seth must be having a fun morning."

"Are you sure we're ready?"

"I don't think we really have a choice." She scowled. "Yes, I think we're ready. We're definitely more prepared than Seth and Summer were."

"That's true." Taylor smiled, "Speaking of them. You should hurry up and get dressed. If we're not at the airport on time. They'll slaughter us."

* * *

_The grass was lush. He stared at the stone embedded in the ground. "I don't know what to say." He put a hand in his pocket. "We're flying out to France tomorrow. Taylor planned everything. She's good at that planning stuff."_

_He leaned in closer. He framed the sides of the tombstone. "Everything moved so quickly. You died and everything changed so fast. I wish you could have seen it. I wish you could have been a part of it." He sighed. "We're moving to New York. I got a job at a architecture firm and Taylor, she's going to work for the UN."_

"_Once upon a time, I thought it'd be you and me at that alter. I never would have admitted it to you, but I thought. But that's not going to happen and I'm glad. Does that sound crass? It's just Taylor and I fit, opposites attract you know? You and I weren't the right fit. I think you knew that before I did."_

"_I love you, Marissa. I always will. I don't know if you can hear me, but I just have to say, goodbye." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's just time I think, time to get you out of my head. You're dead, and I'm here; I'm getting married. I miss you. I'll always miss you, but you can't dwell on the past. I'll still visit. I'll still bring you flowers, but it won't be the same. I'm letting go of the hold you have on my brain."_

* * *

Julie Cooper ran a few fingers over her dining room table. It made no sense, even the explanation made no sense. Her daughter was dead, she had buried her. She had helped carry the coffin. Her mascara had run down her cheeks. She had watched as they lowered her six-feet down. Her life in Newport had been complicated, but this was something else entirely.

She picked up the phone and dialed the number written down before her. She hadn't slept in days. She hadn't moved. She hadn't done much of anything. She talked quietly to her daughter, the one who disappeared years ago. She tried to make sense of it all, but it didn't, it didn't make any sense.

Someone answered on the other line. "Hi. Garden Grove Hospital?" She began. "Who do I talk to about a law suit?"


	6. Better

_Chapter Six: Better_

* * *

She stood on her tip-toes. She twirled. Her dark brown curls bounced up and down. "Berkeley. Berkeley. Berkeley." She sang, trying to stand as straight as possible. "Berkeley's pretty."

Her aunt stared at her from a dark blue airport seat. It was hard and uncomfortable. _She_ was uncomfortable. "Isla, honey, what are you doing?"

"I'm ballerina Barbie." She replied pulling her arms into fifth position. She turned and smiled at her aunt, arms unyielding. "In Berkeley baby can be Malibu Barbie."

"What if it's a boy?" Taylor questioned, unwilling to teach a three-year old about geography.

"Don't be silly." Isla smiled taking a seat next to her aunt. "Baby not boy. Mommy and Daddy's baby would be a boy, but not yours."

"No?" She questioned. "How can you be so sure?"

"Daddy said you'd have a little French girl with a ber-hat." She twirled a strand of hair.

"A ber-hat?"

"French hat."

"A beret?" Taylor questioned raising an eyebrow.

"Yup. Yup. A ber-hat." Isla told her.

"Silly girl." Taylor replied. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes." Isla nodded, her eyes went wide and her pinky shot out quickly. Their fingers intertwined.

"I want a girl more than I want a boy."

"Girls rule." Isla said, with an enthusiastic nod. "Lil' French baby girl."

"Lil' French baby girl." Taylor agreed, a smile spreading across her face.

* * *

She looked at her mother. Her mother. Her real mother, not some illusion. Her blood. She pushed her legs into her chest. Her feet flat on a seat cushion. "Can I ask you a question?"

Her mother looked up from a coffee cup, hands clenched tightly. "Of course, you can."

"Where is he?" She said simply, playing with her blonde locks. "Dad, I mean. Where is he? Still in Greece?" She bit her lip, "I was going to go to Greece."

"No. No." She put the mug down on the table before her. "He's living in Antwerp right now, he's in finance again. I don't know how that happened." She stared at her daughter, wide-eyed, sympathetic. "I guess I didn't tell you. He remarried. I don't know what all you remember. I don't know if you remember the break-up or just afterwards, but he remarried." She rolled her eyes. "She's young, blonde, and her breasts bounce ten-feet when walks."

Marissa stared down at the lines on the palm of her hand. "Bits and pieces. I remember bits and pieces. The end mostly. Prom."

"Oh."

"So he's coming right? He's coming here?" She questioned optimistically.

"Of course. You're his daughter and you've been dead for years, at least in our minds. Your resurrection will bring everyone together."

"Good." She played with her hands nervously. "So, I have a brother?"

"You do." Julie said with a smile. "Aidan. His dad took him to San Diego for the week. You know, Sea World, the whole deal."

"Are you married?" Marissa questioned. "I mean, again." She gasped. "Is he Dr. Roberts'?"

Her mom smirked, "No. No. No. That didn't last much longer than you did. I'm engaged though. We're getting married in October."

"Do I know him?"

"No. Yes and no." Julie bit her lip. "After you,_ you know_, things got complicated. Your brother's name is Aidan James Atwood and his father is Ryan's dad."

"Ryan's dad is an alcoholic, rotting in prison."

"People change. Frank Atwood changed." She sighed. "I changed."

"Did Ryan change?"

Julie nodded. "For the worse and then for the better."

"He's doing good then?"

"Very well."

* * *

_Taylor looked over at her husband, his face aglow from the candlelight. Her legs wrapped around a chair leg. She nervously tapped her fingers on a wine glass._

"_Something wrong?" Ryan asked, looking his wife square in the eye._

"_No. No." She said. "Nothing is wrong, everything is great, perfect." She took a sip from her water glass. "Couldn't have asked for a better anniversary."_

"_No." Ryan smiled. "No crowded restaurant. No blaring classical music. No long walk back to the bedroom."_

"_Oh la la." Taylor smirked. "Mr. Atwood, are you implying that we'll be spending sometime in between those freshly cleaned sheets of ours?" He raised an eyebrow. "Well not too much time I hope. I have to work tomorrow."_

"_You can take a personal day."_

"_A personal day?" Taylor giggled. "What could we possibly be doing all night?"_

"_Talking of course."_

"_Of course," Taylor squinted._

"_This chicken is fantastic," Ryan complimented._

"_It's quail."_

"_That's probably why." Ryan looked at her seriously, "You made this?"_

"_Yes. No." Taylor replied, "Well I bought it, that counts right?"_

"_Whatever you say, Madame."_

"_Can I give you your present now?" She asked. "I don't know if you'll like it, but I didn't keep the receipt, so returning it might be difficult."_

"_I'm sure I'll love it."_

"_I can only hope," she handed an envelope to her husband._

_He opened it anxiously and then stared down at it, wide-eyed. "What is it?"_

"_According to the doctor it's a baby."_

"_Kirsten and Sandy's?"_

"_Nope."_

"_Summer and Seth's?" Taylor shook her head. "Julie and Frank's?"_

"_No. Honey, you're running out of people."_

"_It's ours then?"_

"_Ours and ours alone."_

_A huge smile spread over Ryan's face. "No. No receipt will be necessary. I'll be keeping this gift for years to come."_

"_Years and years." Taylor played with her hair, "We can still have sex right? You're not going to go all crazy and overprotective on me?"_

"_I can put off the craziness one night."_

"_Thank God!"_


	7. Stupid

_Chapter Seven: Stupid_

* * *

_He lied in bed. No television flickered before his eyes. No telephone rang. No music blared in the background. Not that he loved music. Seth loved music. He liked Journey._

_He was a simple man._

_He ran through every maneuver in his head. He wasn't a killer, but he felt like one. His girlfriend was dead – well – his ex-girlfriend. The girl he had fallen for at first sight. The girl he had clung to through thick and thin, through happiness and melodrama. She was his high school sweetheart, at least, she could have been._

_On the nightstand he could see Taylor's scrapbook. The history of their crazy love affair stared back at him. He loved her – at least – he thought he did, but how could he be the right person for her when he couldn't forget his troubled sweetheart?_

_Theresa was right. He did seek out trouble._

_Taylor was the farthest thing from normal that he could imagine. She was the atypical Southern California girl in every sense of the word, but she didn't need him. She didn't need him to save her. She was independent – she didn't want to be – but she was. Marissa was fatally flawed and part of Ryan, some deep part of his soul, needed fatally flawed._

_The door opened, he could hear the hinges squeak. He inhaled sharply. He felt his chest expand. "May eighteenth," he heard a soft voice say. "A day that will live in infamy."_

_It was Summer. She stared at him, soft features beaming. Tears stained her cheeks. "Can I lay with you?"_

_Ryan nodded._

"_She would have been in Greece, you know." Summer slowly situated herself next to him on the mattress. "She wouldn't have wanted you to be so sad."_

"_She wouldn't have wanted you to be so sad." Ryan mocked._

"_She would have been in the Greek isles with Ambrose," Summer smiled. "Hot and sweaty Ambrose, who worked with hands in the Aegean sun."_

"_Your point?"_

"_Don't screw it up. You and Taylor, I don't know, you work." Summer played with her hair. "You may not be together forever, but don't screw it up because of Marissa."_

"_I won't." Ryan promised, but deep in his heart he knew he would._

* * *

Ryan played with his wife's hair. She was stressed. The cell phone in her hand hadn't rung. No one had answered her many calls. He could feel the particles of sweat gathering in her blond strands. He hated it when she was stressed.

"You could always come with us." Ryan suggested.

"To Disneyland?" Taylor questioned. "What would be the point of us paying money for me to see Mickey Mouse? It'll be hot Ryan. It'll be hot and I can't ride anything anyway, so what's the point?"

"We're going to Sea World too." Ryan told her, "You love Beluga Whales."

"Did I ever tell you about the big blowup my parents had during the Shamu show? It started with them debating how long Sea Turtles could live and ended with them deciding to get a divorce."

"Because of Sea Turtles?" Ryan squinted.

"Not because of Sea Turtles, it was just the final straw." Taylor shook her head. "I was a little kid, I don't know all the details. I just don't want to go to Sea World, Ryan."

"And I don't want to share a room with Isla so Seth and Summer can have not so secret sex and make references to it all the next day."

Taylor giggled. "Your plane is leaving in twenty minutes, I couldn't get on it if I wanted to."

"Yes, you could."

Taylor pressed her lips into her husband's, "Doesn't matter because I don't want to."

"Julie isn't answering her phone." Ryan squeezed her hand. "Maybe she doesn't want you to stay there anymore."

"Then I'll find the hide-a-key and stay at Sandy and Kirsten's!"

"What if you can't find it?"

"Then I'll sell your engagement ring and book a suite in the St. Regis."

"I doubt it's worth that much."

Taylor hit him playfully. "Your step-monster will let me sleep there."

"She's not my step-monster yet." Ryan muttered.

"You'll go to Disneyland and Sea World and have a great time, because you love it when Isla, Sophie, and Aidan fight over you."

"Not as much as I love you."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Shut up." She bit her lip. "You're talking like you're that guy, you're not that guy."

"I could be 'that' guy."

"No, you couldn't." The flight attendant made the final boarding call. "You go to the south and I'll stay here in Berkeley. Alone with your baby inside me."

Ryan kissed her. "Then you won't really be alone will you?"

"I guess not."

"Get your bags, call a cab, go to my dad's house, talk to Julie about world problems that she won't quite understand, do some shopping, have a good time, and I'll be back before you know it." He hugged her tightly.

Taylor chewed on her lip while Ryan headed towards the gate. "Ryan?" She yelled after him. He turned back to look at her. "Don't do anything stupid."

He smirked. "I won't if you won't."

* * *

_He lied in bed. No television flickered before his eyes. No telephone rang. No music blared in the background. Not that he loved music. Seth loved music. He liked Journey._

_He could smell her perfume on the pillow next to him. It was floral, yet musky, Chanel. He had grown used to that scent. He had grown used to the long strands of hair she had left on the pillow next to him and now it was too late. She was gone. She was in Paris with French men; French men who knew about politics and poetry. French men who liked stinky cheese and not taking showers. When competing with Henri-Michel he had told her that one-day he'd be ready to say, "I love you."_

_And he was ready to say it – he had said it. He was in a committed relationship and yet, he had managed to screw it up. The last words he had heard her say were, "Do you want to have break-up sex?"_

_God, he loved Taylor._

_Ryan sniffed his perfume stained pillow. Summer laughed as she walked into the room, sucking on a yogurt filled spoon. "You never have break-up sex. It's a trap."_

_Ryan sighed. "I thought she would stay. I wanted her to stay."_

_Summer teased him, "I told you not to screw it up."_

"_I never listen, do I?"_

"_No, Atwood, you really don't."_

* * *

Taylor tipped the cab driver. He was from Senegal. He spoke the French she spoke everyday. He told her about his family and his quest for citizenship and she couldn't help but smile. In New York everyone was always in a rush. In New York she was no one and as much as she loved the fast-paced blur that was her life, she missed random conversations, she missed people talking about their lives, not complaining about them. You couldn't find that in New York and you couldn't find it in SoCal; it was a Northwest exclusive.

The porch looked as welcoming as always. Julie Cooper-Nichol's cottage looked as warm as it had six months ago, but something about it was different. She could feel it in her gut. She could feel it in her shaking hands, something just wasn't quite right.

She knocked on the door, sharply. No one answered. She rubbed her stomach and grabbed the metal doorknocker. No one answered. She wasn't sleeping on the street. "Julie," she huffed. "Julie, Julie, Julie."

She formed a fist with her knuckles, ready to pound it into the door, but before her fist hit the wood, it swung open. "Taylor?" Julie questioned, taken aback. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to be sleeping here. You know, while everyone else plays the tourist card down south." Taylor snuck a peak at the home's interior.

"Oh. I guess I forgot, look there's something – there's something I need to tell you." Julie said, ready to step out onto the porch, but it was too late. Taylor eyes had already locked with an all too familiar blond.

"Taylor," the skinny woman muttered.

"Marissa," Taylor said under breath. Her eyes clenched shut and for a moment she tossed away all her happy thoughts, all her picture-perfect memories to say a silent prayer.

"_Please God, don't let him do anything stupid."_


	8. Married

* * *

_**Identity **_

**Chapter Eight:**

**Married**

**

* * *

**

Taylor shut her eyes. She let everything that had happened in the past few years run through her head. Her wedding flashed before her eyes. Her big white dress. The weather in Cluny. The rain that they ran through on the way to the reception hall. It was all there. The white silk cake. It was flawed, but it was perfect, like them. They were flawed, but together they were perfect – maybe that was just wishful thinking – but they were pretty damn close.

She shut her eyes tighter and tried to place Marissa in the scene. She tried to imagine Marissa's blond hair sticking to her forehead as she used a bouquet of flowers to cover her head from the storm overhead. She tried to imagine her dancing among the wedding guests. She tried to place her among the people sending her and Ryan off, but she couldn't. Marissa didn't fit.

"Taylor…" She heard out of the corner of her ear. "Taylor."

"Huh?" She murmured.

"Are you okay?" Marissa asked, looking at her seriously.

"What?" She looked up, "Yeah. I'm fine. I mean you're the one who shouldn't be fine. Mistaken identity and all."

"Yeah. Well. It happens." Marissa shrugged, suppressing a laugh.

"No. It doesn't." Taylor replied, still zoned out.

"Is everything okay? I mean are you okay?" Marissa questioned. "It's a lot to take in, I know, but you don't look so good."

"Yeah. I'm fine." Taylor lied. "Just pregnant."

"I noticed." Marissa smiled, as if they were old friends. Taylor couldn't help but wonder if they were, if they ever had been, friends. Acquaintances maybe, occasional allies, but friends? She didn't think that was the word. "I know it's a long shot, but do I know him?"

Taylor looked at her confused. "The father – do I know the father?"

Her throat tightened. The saliva in her mouth nervously slid down. Julie shot her a glare, a glare that proclaimed, "Don't you dare tell her the truth." She didn't. "Well – " Taylor began, "No. Not really."

Marissa played with her hair. "I'm sure he's nice." She bit her lip. "I don't remember much, you know? And what I do remember, well it's fuzzy, but I remember you. Strong-willed Taylor Townsend."

"Friendless Taylor Townsend." She said under her breath.

"No." Marissa replied nicely. Taylor shot her a glance, "Well maybe."

"It's okay. I came on strong back then." Taylor shook her head. "Strong like a bullet wound. Summer was the first person to ever really befriend me." She played with the ring of finger. She took it on and off. On and off. "And that was only because I was extremely pushy. After a while she didn't even have a choice."

"See." Marissa said quietly, "Strong-willed."

"I guess."

"How is she?" Marissa asked, tapping her fingers on the kitchen table.

"Summer?" Marissa nodded. "She's great. She married Seth and had a beautiful baby girl, Isla. She's three and extremely precocious. She works for the EPA."

"The EPA?" Marissa raised an eyebrow. "Like the Environmental Protection Agency, EPA?"

"Yeah." Taylor nodded. "A lots changed." She smiled, "And that's not the best part. They live in Brooklyn, could you imagine sixteen-year-old Summer's face if you told her she'd end up in Brooklyn?

"No. I don't think I could." Marissa tapped her toes on the tile. "Look. I know you weren't close and I know odds are you don't really know anything, but Ryan. How's Ryan?"

Taylor shut her eyes and exhaled sharply. "Ryan?" Her hand instinctively fell to her stomach. "He's… He's fantastic."

* * *

_Ryan Atwood was an outsider; at least, he had been for many years. He thought he had adapted. Thought the rich world he had been introduced to could be his after all, but sitting in that restaurant, with the candles shining bright in front of his face, and the insane prices on the menu, he felt uncomfortable. _

_Maybe it was because she was late. Maybe it was because Summer's plan wasn't going effectively. He didn't know. _

_The waiter bought him the bottle of wine he had ordered and he stared out the front door, hoping to see her walk in. _

_He squinted. He glared. He contorted his face into a number of expressions, but she never came into view. _

_He felt the hands first. He noticed the smell. Her smell. He loved that smell. He loved her. "Hello." She greeted, taking a seat across from him. "Sorry, class ran late."_

_"No problem. I haven't been here very long."_

_"Long enough to order wine." Taylor noted. "Expensive wine." _

_"Very expensive wine." _

_"Poor baby," she joked. "What's the occasion?" _

_"Why does there have to be an occasion?"_

_"Frugal Atwood buying expensive wine." She smiled. "Definite sign of occasion."_

_"Let me just pour you a glass." Ryan said, quickly trying to change the subject. _

_"Whatever." Taylor smirked. "You're being weird." When he handed it to her, she automatically took a sip. It wasn't until she put the glass down that she noticed the glint of the ring. "Oh my God!" She paused. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" She felt her cheeks flush. _

_Ryan fell to one knee. Not suavely, not in a debonair fashion, before her wasn't a Bond replica. He certainly wasn't a perfect bridegroom. He was just Ryan Atwood and yet when he spoke, he seemed like Prince Charming, like her knight in shining armor. "Taylor Townsend. Will you marry me?"_

_

* * *

_

"I don't think I can lie to her." Taylor said, her back pressed to the living room wall. "I mean – she's been through enough. Hasn't she?"

"Look. Taylor, she loved Ryan."

"And he loved her. Your point?" Taylor questioned. "What, it's going to be easier for him to tell her? How Julie? How will any of this be easy?"

"It won't be."

"Then let me just rip the band-aid off."

"No." Julie said firmly. "She's been on an emotional rollercoaster and you're not going to push her up that hill. We're not going to push her up that hill until there's no other option."

"But you know that when I tell Ryan he'll be back on that plane this evening. You know that. They were friends. Really good friends. Best friends, even, maybe. I don't know. And Summer will be right there with him." Taylor shook her head. "What good is postponing the inevitable a few hours?"

"You're not telling him."

Taylor laughed a little. She was outraged. "I'm not telling him?" Julie shook her head. "He's my husband."

"Let me ask you a question." Julie demanded. "Do you really want to tell him?"

Taylor didn't know what to say.

* * *

She wasn't supposed to be doing this. She wasn't supposed to be sneaking downstairs at midnight. She wasn't supposed to be going through her mother's things. She was supposed to be lying in bed. She was supposed to be remembering all the things she had forgotten, but how could she remember anything when everyone was so desperate to hide the truth from her?

She could hear it in Taylor's voice. She could hear it in her mother's tone. Things had changed, she wasn't stupid, she understood that, but how drastically? She herself wasn't the same rebel that she could hazily remember.

Beneath the rows of DVDs, sat a shelf of movies she had never seen. Never been enticed to see before now. They were home movies. They were the things she had hated in childhood. Her dad. That old clunky video camera. That she remembered.

She put a DVD into the player. It had the words "Engagement Party" written on it in clean crisp cursive.

_"What do you want to say to the happy couple?" Sandy Cohen asked, camera held steadily in his hand. _

_"What do I want to say to the happy couple?" Ryan mused. "I don't really know." _

_"Oh! I know! I know!" Taylor said coming into view. She was wearing a red dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Ryan looked at her fondly. She looked directly into the camera. "Seth. Summer." She said seriously. "Never forget the power of the __karma sutra." _

_"Taylor!" Sandy scolded from off screen. She could hear the laugh he was trying to suppress._

_"What?" Taylor questioned. "Mr. Cohen, we're all adults here and sex is a very natural thing. A thing that we should be able to discuss openly. You can't honestly tell me that you and Kirsten would function the way you do if you didn't have a very active sex life." _

_"I don't know how to respond to that." Sandy said softly. _

_"Why does sex have to be so embarrassing? It's natural!" She exclaimed, turning to boyfriend. "Ryan, promise me you'll never forget the power of the karma sutra."_

_He stared at her and then turned to the camera. "On another note. Summer. Seth. I wish you the best of luck, but Seth you better hope Summer doesn't wake up one day and realize just who she married."_

_Taylor nodded. "Jamaican me crazy!" She giggled. "Remember that Valentine's Day when Seth had nothing planned and joined us on that trip to Vegas." _

_Ryan looked her in the eye. "And we ended up at that alien rave in the middle of the desert." _

_"That'd be the trip." _

_"Look, Seth, I love you man," Ryan said taking a sip from his water glass. "And I know you've grown since then, but just remember this, I'm never going to bail you out like that again." _

_"Neither am I. I know I wasn't part of that decision, but just know that I won't." Taylor smiled. "But next time you have Valentine's Day dilemmas, remember the karma sutra." _

_Ryan hit her playfully on the arm. "Or remember that jewelry stores are always opened on Valentine's Day." _

_Taylor took a seat on the railing of Ryan's chair. "Seriously though, you are perhaps the best couple ever, and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors." Taylor frowned. "I didn't mean for that to sound so professional. Can we cut?" _

_"If we could cut I would have cut a long time ago." Sandy said quietly._

_"In that case. I love you both and I'm sure you have a great future to look forward to." _

_"Here here." Ryan said._

_"And as unromantic as a t-shirt is as a Valentine's Day present. Especially an unfunny, unwearable one, always remember that you could do worse. For example you could give her a thesaurus."_

_"It was a French dictionary." Ryan defended._

_"It's still a big book of words." _

_"It wasn't your actual present." Ryan replied. _

_"Please! You chose to give me the real one later, but you still had the choice to give it to me." Taylor said. "Watch the video. It certainly doesn't seem like there's another present." _

_"Yeah. Well. In my defense it was Seth's idea."_

_"Next time you want to give someone a dictionary, come talk to me." Taylor told the camera very seriously, before a smile spread across her face. "Now can you go torture someone else with your video camera?" _

_He obliged. _

Marissa paused the DVD. Taylor and Ryan. Taylor and Ryan. The names ran through her head. They dated. That didn't work. That didn't make any sense. Taylor and Ryan?

She closed her eyes. Everything about him seemed different. What happened to the brooding man she had fallen for years ago? He was still him, but at the same time he wasn't. She sighed. At least she had something in common with Taylor now.

They were both Ryan's exes.

* * *

Taylor held the phone to her ear. She clutched it as if it were her only lifeline. "I should have went to Sea World." She said into the receiver. "I should have waited to come here."

"I told you." Her husband replied.

"Look – Ryan. I'm not suppose to tell you this, but I think I have to." Taylor let her head fall against the headboard.

"You're not supposed to tell me?" She could tell he was smiling. "What are we in high school?"

"High school never ends." She smirked. She'd never believed that before, but seeing Marissa – alive – she knew it didn't.

"What is it?"

"Ma – m – m – ma." She stammered, taking a deep breath. "Never mind."

"You can tell me."

"I know." She replied. "But Julie told me not to."

"Since when do you listen to Julie?" Ryan paused. "That'd be like listening to your mother."

"I love you." Taylor chuckled. "Do you love me?

"Is that a trick question?"

"Do you love me?" She repeated.

"More than anything."

"Look Ryan. There's a big surprise for you here. I guess that'd be the word, surprise. Maybe not. And I want to tell you what it is. I really do, but I can't. I can't tell you over the phone. I need to see you, but by the time I see you, you'll know the secret. You'll know what Julie's been hiding."

"Then don't tell me."

"You won't be mad?" She questioned. She wanted to cry. "You won't be mad that I didn't tell you what I very well could have?"

"Do you feel comfortable saying it over the phone?"

"No." She replied solemnly.

"That's all I care about."

A smile spread across her face. She was loved. That's all she'd ever wanted and now she had it. Love.

She prayed that no one would ever take that away from her.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Quicker than before, but still not quick. I'm sorry! Please review. They are nice pleasant things to get in your inbox. If you favorite or add an alert of my story, then that is very flattering and nice, but still please review (I've had many experiences with this)! I like reviews a lot. An alert or favorite is fantastic, but reviews make me feel like people are interested in what I'm writing. Reviews let people give criticism and suggestions that I can look back on later. Reviews make me very, very giddy inside. Please review.

* * *


	9. Name

_Chapter Nine: Name_

* * *

The plane landed at three in the morning. Isla clung to his chest. Her body was limp and her eyes were clenched shut. Who's idea was it to take the red eye with three children under the age of eight? Certainly not his.

Summer looked at him and smiled. "Look at the way you're holding that little girl," she said enthusiastically. "You're going to make a great father. You know that?"

"Thanks." Ryan smiled, "Why isn't Seth holding his daughter?"

"Because he's got no upper arm strength and would be whining like a little girl right about now." Summer smirked, "But he's my little girl."

"Speaking of which." Summer told him, "Would you mind telling me the sex of that unborn child of yours?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy." Ryan told her.

"So? I won't tell." Ryan looked at her skeptically. "Atwood! How dare you accuse me of not being able to keep my mouth shut. I'm very good at keeping secrets."

"Since when?"

"Since I pushed a seven pound infant out of my unmentionables. There are some things you don't want to talk about after that."

"I'm guessing the sex of my child isn't one of those."

"Well – no, but if you tell me I'll keep my mouth shut. I swear."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"Then in that case, I'm pretty sure that it's going to be a boy." Ryan told her.

"A boy?" Summer questioned with a smile.

Ryan nodded. "Or a girl."

"A boy or a girl?" Ryan nodded once again.

"That's right. A boy or a girl."

"You're not going to tell me are you?"

"No." Ryan replied, pushing Isla farther up on his shoulder.

"If you told me, I could get Taylor the perfect baby gift."

"If I told you, you could get Taylor the perfect baby gift that tipped her off as to the sex of her child." Ryan told her with a matter of fact tone. "And Taylor wouldn't like that."

"I suppose you have a point." Summer sighed.

"No. You know I have a point, otherwise you'd continue to press the issue."

"What happened to the Ryan Atwood that stood there silently?"

"He realized that Taylor talked a lot and if he didn't start talking she'd be having a lot of one sided conversations."

"I always knew you were a lover and not a fighter Chino."

"I think you're the only one." Ryan smirked.

"Well, I am quite adept."

* * *

_Seth called from the hospital in a panic. It's too soon he repeated over and over again. Ryan tried to calm him down, but as Taylor pointed out from the couch, there wasn't much you could do to calm Seth Cohen down over the phone._

_They drove down during rush hour. Traffic was stop and go and they received constant calls from Seth telling them to drive faster, to come faster. Taylor laughed at her future brother in-law's current neurosis._

_He paced. That was the first thing they noticed when they arrived. They took a seat in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs and watched him walk back and forth. "Shouldn't you be in there?" Taylor asked._

_"In there?" Seth questioned, deep in thought. "In where?"_

_"In the room with your wife. You know, your pregnant wife who's about to give birth to your child."_

_"Oh." Seth sighed. "That room." He paused, "She kicked me out."_

_"She kicked you out?" Taylor snickered._

_"Yeah." Seth stopped his constant pacing and turned towards the couple. "I was breathing too loud or something."_

_Taylor and Ryan exchanged a glance. "What? Is that a bad thing?"_

_Taylor looked to Ryan. "No." He bluntly replied._

_"Yes it is." Seth retorted, plopping down next to his adopted brother. "My own wife doesn't want me to be there for the birth of our child. My parents are out of town." Seth inhaled sharply. "And I can't breathe."_

_"Yes, you can." Taylor informed him. "Now go in there and comfort your wife."_

_"Comfort my wife?" Seth questioned. "I don't think I can do that. I tried, she slapped me."_

_"She slapped you?"_

_"Hard." Seth played with his shirt's collar. "Is it hot in here? Or is it just me?"_

_"It's just you." Ryan and Taylor said in unison._

_A nurse walked in from behind the automatic doors. "Mr. Cohen?"_

_"Now I'm hearing things." Seth commented._

_"No." Taylor informed him, "That nurse is calling you. Red scrubs."_

_"Oh."_

_"Mr. Cohen?" She repeated._

_"Right here." He stood up._

_"It's time." She told him._

_"Time?" Seth smiled, "She's going to have the baby." His face went pale and his voice went up an octave. "She's going to have the baby."_

_"Yes, Mr. Cohen. She's going to have the baby." The nurse said calmly. "Are you coming?"_

_Seth shook his head. "She doesn't want me. She kind of made that clear when she stared throwing ice chips in my face."_

_"Mr. Cohen, your wife has been asking for you incessantly for the past ten minutes."_

_"Ten minutes?" He questioned. "And this is the first time you've come to get me?" He said, a surge of energy moving through him. He headed towards the automatic doors._

_Taylor turned to Ryan, "How come we don't see that Seth more often?"_

* * *

Marissa Cooper sat on the hardwood floor in silence. The light was almost completely off; only a dim light came from the fixture. Her hands slowly and cautiously flipped through the photo album sitting before her. In it were pictures of people she had never seen and events she had never experienced. She took the young blonde to be Sophie, and the young brunettes to be Aidan and Isla.

She noted little details. Isla had big eyes. Aidan was missing one of his front teeth, and Sophie had long legs and hair that sparkled in the sun. She was a photographer, she knew the techniques, the timing, she had those things down to a tee, but even these amateur pictures looked perfect, quintessential.

The door opened behind her. She didn't move. She didn't stir. She was going to be caught. Caught looking at photos, that didn't mean anything. It didn't matter. Who'd care about such things? Her mother maybe, the new one, the old one, the one so determined to keep everything private, to keep her content.

The door opener noticed the light, "Taylor?" He called, the burnt yellow calling to him. She noted that the voice was familiar, too familiar. He dropped his keys on a table. She heard him untie his shoelaces. "Shouldn't you be asleep? It's five-thirty."

He leaned his head on the archway. "Hey," he murmured. "You should have come down south with us. It would have been a lot more fun with you." He paused and clarified, "I wouldn't have been a child carrying pawn with you."

Marissa lifted her head from the book and slowly turned to face him, "Ryan?" She questioned.

"Marissa?" He took a step back. He shook his head. "Except, you can't be her. She's dead. I left flowers on her grave yesterday."

"You were the only one who knew Oliver was unstable." A few tears ran down her cheek. "The only one and the first time we met you told me you were whoever I wanted you to be. And right now I want you to be Ryan Atwood and me, I want to be Marissa Cooper, because for the last eight years I've been Cassidy Parker and I just don't understand. Everything's foggy. They lied to me, everyone has lied to me, I thought I'd come here and get answers. Real answers. The kind I wouldn't get in Chicago. I thought I'd figure out who I am, I mean, who I was, but no one wants to tell me anything. No one wants to be honest with me, they're scared it'll hurt me, but you know what really stings? Knowing that they're not being honest with me. But the Ryan Atwood I know, he'll tell me the truth."

"You're dead." He said softly. "I don't understand."

"I don't either."

"You're dead." He repeated.

"No." She put a hand on her heart. "I'm not dead. They told me I was someone else; they convinced I was someone else. They stripped me of my memories, but Ryan, they're coming back. I'll explain, I mean, I'll try to explain, but only if you tell me the truth."

"Okay." He muttered.

"Are you married?" Marissa asked. He just stared at her. "Taylor Townsend, is she your wife?"

Ryan opened his mouth, a hard breath of air pushed past his lips. "We got married in France a little over a year ago. Summer was the maid of honor. Seth was the best man. It rained, but other than that, everything was perfect." He paused. "You should have been there."

"You married Taylor Townsend?" She said, shocked by the words coming out of her mouth. He nodded. "A lot's changed, hasn't it?"

"Yeah." He swallowed. "It has."

* * *

_Seth sat the upper corner of Summer's bed. He looked happily down at his baby girl. "She has your hair."_

_"We have the same hair color Cohen." Summer informed him._

_"But it's quite noticeably yours." Seth replied. "She's beautiful._

_"Extremely." Summer smiled, "Isla Cohen."_

_"Isla, no middle name, Cohen." Seth said softly, leaning against his wife's pillow._

_"Isla Cooper Cohen."_

_"Isla Cooper?" Summer nodded. "I know you want to pay respect to your best friend, but Isla Cooper?"_

_Summer nodded wants again. "What's wrong with Isla Cooper?"_

_"Well for one, Cooper is a last name and for two, I mean, additionally, Isla Cooper sounds a lot like Alice Cooper. I'm anticipating a lot of 'School's Out' jokes."_

_"'School's Out' jokes?" Summer raised an eyebrow. "Who makes Alice Cooper jokes?"_

_"I'm sure there are people."_

_"Then Louise." Summer said softly._

_"What now?"_

_"Isla Louise Cohen." Summer looked at her husband. "When we were eight, Marissa and I used to play Thelma and Louise. I was always Thelma. She was always Louise."_

_"Who plays Thelma and Louise when they're eight?" Seth paused. "Who plays Thelma and Louise in general?"_

_"We did."_

_"Isla Louise Cohen." Seth said with a smile._

_"How's that sound?"_

_"Perfect."_

* * *

Ryan leaned against the bedroom door. He looked to the bed where his wife lay. Thoughts pounded in his head. He noticed the sun beginning to rise in the distance. He looked at his watch, six-thirty. She stirred. He watched her eyes open. "Hey," she greeted. Sitting up against the headboard.

"Hey." He replied, his voice soft. He took a seat on the bed.

"What's wrong?" She asked. She knew the answer.

He sat there silently. Breathing in and out heavily. "Mistaken identity."

"Look, Ryan." She sighed. "I tried to tell you."

"Uh-huh."

"You told me not to."

"Yeah, because I thought it was something smaller. I didn't think Marissa Cooper was somehow still alive." Ryan replied.

"I know, but you told me if I didn't feel comfortable saying it over the phone I didn't have to." Taylor said softly. "And how comfortable can you feel saying something like that over the phone?"

"Not very."

"No. Not very." Taylor bit her lip. "Look, I'm sorry."

"For?"

"Not telling you."

"You don't have to be sorry for that." Ryan shook her head, "It's just – she's alive."

"I know." Taylor said, a slight twinge of sadness in her voice. "Believe me, I know."

"Is something wrong?"

"No." Taylor shook her head. Ryan stared at her seriously. "What?"

"I know you, that's what."

"It's just, she was your first love."

"And?"

"She's not dead."

"A lot of people have first loves that are still living."

"A lot of people didn't think their first loves were dead for eight years. A lot of people didn't only get over their first loves because they died."

"I've told you a million times, Marissa and I didn't work together." Ryan told her. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"I don't know, a billion." She allowed her head to fall into the headboard with a slight thud. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"You have some trust issues, Mrs. Atwood." Ryan wrapped an arm around his wife.

"I know, Ryan. You do too." She sighed. "It's why we work."

He pulled her in closer, but she knew that in the distance a storm was lurking.


	10. Talk

_Chapter Ten: Talk_

* * *

Chrismakkuh is my favorite holiday." She said with a big smile. Her voice was small. She was nervous because her mother was nervous. They fed off one another. She was a sponge taking in her surroundings and there was a new fish giving off nutrients. "There's a tree and y-ya-ya-ma hats." Big eyes, the new fish noted, Isla. She repeated the name over and over in her head.

"Yarmulkes," her mother corrected.

"Close." Isla shook her head. "What's your favorite holiday Miss Marissa?"

Marissa shrugged.

Isla shrugged back shaking a finger. "Is not an answer."

"Marissa has had a long day Isla, if she doesn't want to answer, she doesn't have to."

Marissa laughed softly. "No it's okay." She smiled, thinking it over a minute. "My favorite holiday is my birthday, March 8th."

Summer stared at her uncomfortably. How many birthdays had they spent together? How many cakes had they shared? Too many; too many for her to have the date wrong. "Marissa," Summer bit her lip, inhaling sharply, "You were born on May 4th."

"Right, of course." She replied. "That's what I meant to say." She laughed nervously. "I didn't say that?"

Summer shook her head.

"It's okay Miss Marissa." Isla said with a sigh. "I confuse March and May too."

* * *

She wore sandals. They were bright blue and new. He was aware of every step she took because they squeaked. He looked down at her feet. Noticing his glance she chuckled, almost apologetically. This was his idea, it wasn't hers, but oh how she missed this. Oh how she missed this man. Maybe that wasn't the case. Maybe it wasn't a cause of missing. After all, she had only remembered him, his scent, his smile, for a little over a week, but walking down that street in Northern California, none of that mattered. It was almost like she had never been Cassidy Parker, it was as though she had always been Marissa Cooper and it was only with him that she felt this way.

"I forgot my birthday." She said, shoving her hands into her pockets. There was a chill in the air.

"Well," He replied calmly, "Not to slight you, but didn't you technically forget that eight years ago?"

A slight smile spread across her face, but she shrugged it off. "That's not the point." She ground her foot into the concrete. "You've been here three days and you all try so hard to make it normal. You try so hard to make it as though I've been around the last eight years, but I haven't. I mean, I'm grateful. I am, but a part of me feels bad when I don't remember."

"No one expects you to remember."

"You didn't see the look on Summer's face."

"Summer expects you to be Marissa. Hell, we all do and that's our fault. It has nothing to do with you."

"Expects me to be Marissa?" She raised an eyebrow. "I thought the whole reason I was here was because I am Marissa."

"You're not just her anymore. You've been someone else for the past eight years and I'm guessing Cassidy Parker is very different than Marissa Cooper. You can't pretend that that person never existed."

"I can't?"

"No." He shook his head. "How about for the next ten minutes you stop being Marissa and start being Cassidy?"

"What?"

"Cassidy Lynette Parker tell me about yourself."

A smile spread across her face; white teeth sending off beams of light. "Really?" She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah. Really." He replied, surprised that she felt the need to ask.

She took a deep breath. "I went to Dartmouth and majored in Media Studies and Anthropology, and along the way I dabbled in photography. It wasn't until after graduation though, when I was working an intern in London that I realized I preferred still photography to moving pictures. I started taking courses and on a whim I applied to the MFA program at Yale."

She paused. "In photography, I mean. Somehow I got in and since then I haven't stopped. I got a job in Chicago and have been living there for about a year." She put her hands in her pockets and noticed the eager look in Ryan's eye. She tried and failed to suppress a laugh. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. What do you want to tell me?"

* * *

Jimmy Cooper was older. Grey strands littered his hair. Marissa sat next to him, back straight. They sat in silence. Marissa uncomfortably swirled a spoon around her coffee mug. Jimmy cleared his throat. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here kiddo."

"It's okay." Marissa said, sinking into her chair slowly.

"Celia's been in Pakistan on business. She's an archeologist and I had to take Trevor to her parent's house. They live in France."

"Celia?" Marissa shrugged. "Should I know who that is?"

"My wife." Her father replied, taking a sip from his coffee. "We hadn't met before the, the, the," he struggled for the right word.

"Accident. Mix up. The words are pretty interchangeable really." She bit her lip. "And Trevor?"

"Your brother. He's five."

"So I died and everyone started popping out babies?" Marissa chuckled.

"I guess we did." Jimmy replied. They sat quietly again. "I think I always thought I failed you and then you were gone and I knew I could never make it up to you."

"So you met some woman and impregnated her so you could make up for all the mistakes you made?"

"As cynical as ever I see." Jimmy smirked. "I couldn't bear to stay in Greece, after you died, I just couldn't stay there. I found a job working in France on the coast and one day I ran into Celia and we fell for each other in a way I hadn't fallen for anyone in years. We rushed into things a little; got married, and one day she said she wanted to have a baby. She's younger than me."

"I was told."

"Of course you were." Jimmy rolled his eyes at the thought of his ex-wife. "And instead of reminding of her of my age and the fact that I already had a grown daughter, I embraced the opportunity to finally raise someone right."

"How noble of you."

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean that." Marissa said, staring at her hands.

"No. I'm sorry I was a bad father."

"You weren't a bad father." Marissa shook her head, her hands tightly woven around the base of the coffee mug.

"Yes, I was."

"Not always." Marissa smiled. "Definitely not always, just the end."

"You don't remember. You're not a proper judge."

"It's fuzzy, but I remember the good times."

"Yeah?" Jimmy smiled.

"Yeah." Marissa nodded.

* * *

Taylor opened her eyes when she heard the door open. The light from the hallway flooded into the room. She turned to the clock. 3 o'clock it proclaimed. He came in quietly, tiptoeing across the wooden beams. "Ryan?" Taylor questioned.

"Shh." Ryan whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"It's three a.m." Taylor sat up, "You know as well as I do that nothing good happens after two a.m."

"We just talked."

"About?" Taylor questioned, looking her husband in the eye.

"Cassidy." He responded.

"Of course, Mr. Understanding." Taylor said under her breath.

"You used to like that about me."

"Still do."

"Yeah?" Ryan asked skeptically, climbing into bed.

"You know, when it doesn't involve early morning talks with your ex-girlfriend."

"We used to have early morning talks." Ryan reminded her, putting an arm around her.

"Yeah and then we used to have sex like bunnies."

"I'm not going to have sex with her."

"Like wild, horny, bunny rabbits out to repopulate the Earth." Taylor imitated a rabbit.

Ryan laughed. "Why would I want to be with her when I can be with you?"

"Because she's Marissa Cooper."

"And you're Taylor Townsend." Taylor slapped his chest. "You're better than Taylor Townsend. You're Taylor Atwood."

"You could have stayed downstairs with us." He reminded her.

Taylor arched her eyebrows. "I'm sorry you impregnated me with your spawn."

"My spawn?" Ryan questioned. Taylor nodded. "Ouch!"

"Your precious unborn child."

"That's a little sappy, no?" Ryan pulled her in closely.

"That's kind of all you get, sappy or bastardly sounding." Taylor shrugged. "Please no more three in the morning chats."

"No talking between twelve and six, scout's honor." Ryan pushed three fingers together.

"You're no boy scout."

"No?"

"Boy scouts don't have this much drama."

"How would you know?"

"I knew a boy scout or two back in the day." Taylor smirked.

"Yeah."

"Uh-huh." Taylor smiled. "We had some early morning talks."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Taylor sighed. "Good times."

Ryan laughed. "Well, architect's honor, no more late night talks."

"What's the sign for that?"

"I'll show you in like seven months."

"Why not now?" Taylor smiled.

"It requires a certain degree of flexibility." Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Atwood!" Ryan pulled her into a kiss.

"I'm still mad at you."

"Uh-huh." Ryan said, kissing her again.

"And I'm still worried about this."

"You worry about everything." Ryan pressed his lips into hers again.

Taylor sat quietly for a minute. "I hate you sometimes."

"Yeah, but I always love you."

Taylor looked up at him, stared at the bridge of his nose and smiled. "What are we, on a sitcom?"

"We can be on whatever you want."

"The Golden Gate Bridge," she said softly.

"A feat of civil engineering."

"On bikes." Taylor bit her lip.

"In the middle of an unexpected downpour." Ryan smiled, "Good times."

"The best." Taylor shook her head, "And quite romantic I might add."

"Next time, we'll have to try the Chain Bridge."

"Oh! Budapest!" Taylor smiled. "The Paris of the East."

"When's the rainy season in Hungary?"

* * *

"I can't believe you've never been to San Francisco." Ryan told her, walking along the side of the road.

"Not that I can remember." Marissa told him. "Wait! Does SFO count? That time we visited Berkley? Or my flight from Chicago there."

"No. In the city."

"Well – I'm here now."

"And what do you think?" Ryan asked, proudly showing off the shoreline.

"It's beautiful."

Ryan looked at his phone. "The meetings over, Taylor's on her way. Do you like French food?"

Marissa shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."

"It's Taylor's favorite and her favorite restaurant in the city is over there." Ryan pointed to a building up the road.

"I'm guessing we'll be eating there."

"Right you are."

"Isla eats French food?"

"Oh yeah." Ryan nodded. "Seth convinced her that mussels give you muscles and she loves saying the word baguette."

"Baguette." Marissa said with enthusiasm thinking it over. "I get it."

"We have twenty minutes." Ryan scratched his head.

"Yeah." Marissa said softly.

"Want to see my favorite spot in the city?"

"Yeah. I'd really like that."

Ryan offered her a hand. She accepted.


	11. Touch

_Chapter Eleven: Touch_

* * *

_He brought a girl to dinner. What was that? She forced a smile, but inside she was fuming. They'd been broken up for two months and he brought some blonde girl to dinner with Seth and Summer the first night she was back in town? He really just had to make her the fifth wheel, didn't he? She gave her the once over again. Skank, she thought. She hated that that was where her mind immediately went. She was probably a perfectly nice girl. Probably super intelligent. Ryan was probably lucky to have her. _

_She inhaled sharply, the smile not leaving her face. _

_Why'd she have to be blonde? She knew Ryan liked blonde girls. Knew she probably wasn't his type anyway, for a lot of reasons, but hair color not excluded. Knew she'd never live up to Marissa, this girl though, she might. Had that same sadness in her eyes. That same lack of definition to her body, like she could just melt away at any moment. Yeah. She might need him to save her. She just hated the fact that he made her wish that she needed to be saved. Wish she were less secure on her own two feet. Wish he wanted to give her his time, his affection, his love. _

_Why had they broken up anyway? Long distance hadn't been all that hard, had it? Was it because he'd come to visit her over fall break and been jarred by the jet lag he faced on the way back. Had they run out of things to talk about? Had it all just become about sex? Had they gotten too crafty and too used to their late night Skype encounters those last few months? Did she talk too much? Did her rambling make him wish he were talking to anyone else? _

_She stared at the stubble on his cheeks. God. She loved him. Adored him. Wanted nothing more than to sneak off to the bathroom and have her way with him. She would to. Would do anything to be able to touch his body again. Would do anything for him to look at her with those blue eyes of him. Right now he was looking through her. She wasn't really there. She was invisible. She hated feeling invisible, was too used to feeling invisible. _

_Blondie put her hand on his. He laughed at one of her jokes. She felt sick inside. Her eyes glazed over. She wondered if he noticed. She excused herself to the bathroom. It didn't seem like anyone would miss her. _

_The second she entered the lavatory, she fell into the door and started to cry. She wasn't entirely sure why she was doing it. He was allowed to move on. They were both allowed to be happy. Long distance wasn't practical she knew that. But that didn't change the fact that she missed him. Wanted him. _

_After a few minutes there was a knock on the door. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her mascara had run. Shit. She wet a paper towel. She needed to make herself look presentable before she went back to the table. "Just a minute." She replied to the knock. _

"_Taylor, it's me." His voice made her melt; she cleaned up her face with more urgency. "Open up."_

_Her hand lingered on the knob for a long moment but she obliged. _

_He looked her in the eye. "You've been crying," he noted. _

"_You brought a date," She replied. He pushed his way into the cube. She shut the door behind them._

"_I saw that look you had in your eye when you left the table and I know you." He sighed, "Look, I don't want it to be like this." _

"_Neither do I." _

"_What was I supposed to do? We broke up." _

"_Yeah. 54 days ago, I wasn't exactly expecting you to have a girlfriend by now. Certainly not one you brought to dinner my first day in the states." _

"_What, I am not allowed to have a girlfriend, but you're allowed to have a boyfriend?" _

"_Huh?" _

"_Pierre. Summer is always going on about you and Pierre. 'Oh. They met at an All-Saints Day Party.' … 'They took the train to Toulouse.' … 'They translate poetry together.' If I have to listen to her say one more thing about you and Pierre, I am going to lose my fucking mind. But by all means, complain about me and Norah." _

"_He's not my boyfriend." Taylor said her voice small._

"_Please." He muttered in disbelief. _

"_Ryan, he's not my boyfriend." _

"_Taylor, come on, you don't have to…"_

"_He's gay!" She flapped her hands in annoyance. "He's not my boyfriend. He's gay." _

"_Like Roger?" _

"_Like Roger and a good percentage of the world's population, yeah. Except, I didn't hire him to make you jealous. You broke up with me and I was sad, so I made a new friend." _

"_I broke up with you?" _

"_Yeah."_

"_You broke up with me." _

"_No. I didn't." _

"_Yes. You did." _

"_No. I didn't." She seethed. _

"_You said it wasn't working." _

"_Yeah. The long distance wasn't working. The long distance." _

"_Right and you live in France. Not like there's another option there." _

"_Except maybe me moving back to California." _

"_What?" He stared at her. The room fell still around them. _

"_I was going to talk to you about transferring and moving back to California, but you proceeded to break up with me. Said you felt that it hadn't been working for some time now. I don't know, some bullshit." _

"_I thought you were breaking up with me. I was trying to save face." _

"_Well, I wasn't." She turned back to the mirror and continued cleaning up her face. _

"_You weren't going to break up with me?"_

"_No." _

"_You weren't going to break up with me?" He stepped in closer to her._

"_Ryan no," She turned to him. "Jesus! What do you want me to say?" _

_Instead of responding, he pressed his lips into her and pushed her roughly against the sink behind her. She loved the authority of the kiss, the passion. She loved the way his hands felt against her. Loved the taste of coffee on his breath. Loved him. _

_When they came up for air, she slapped him across the face. His hand gingerly rubbed his cheek. "You have a girlfriend." _

"_Please. We've been on one date." _

"_She doesn't touch you like it's been one date."_

"_She has a crush and she's showing it." He lifted her chin. "That's all." _

"_That's all?"_

"_Yeah. That's all." _

"_She seems like a nice girl, you might be happy with her." _

"_Maybe, but I don't want her. I want you. I want to be happy with you." _

"_Why?" _

"_Because you count the days we've been broken up, because you're here and I love you and you want this too." He kissed her again._

_She nodded. "Yeah. I want this too." _

_He hoisted her onto the sink. Lips pressed together, she unbuttoned his pants, watched them fall to the ground. She felt his hands start up her thighs, looked deep into his eyes as he pulled off her underwear. _

_Her daydream was coming true. He was taking her in the bathroom. The restaurant was abuzz outside the door. Norah was at the table waiting for him. She didn't care. He didn't care. This was right. This was how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be together. _

_Throughout the rest of dinner, he played his part. He acted like he was on a second date with Norah. Occasionally, their hands would touch, but there was a difference in the way he looked at her. She was his again and he was hers. _

_On the ride home, Ryan would tell her that he had a good time, but that he didn't think it would work out. She wasn't sure if he would say it was because he still had feelings for his ex-girlfriend or if he would lie. She didn't care. _

_She was just happy to be home again._

* * *

She wasn't used to seeing them touch.

She watched them in the kitchen. The way she'd pass him ingredients. The way he'd lick the batter off her fingers. The way she'd wipe the flour off his cheeks, out of his brow. They were making peach torte they'd told her. She wasn't entirely sure knew what peach torte was, wasn't sure she'd even liked peaches. Ryan had said they were his favorite. Had that always been the case? She didn't know that, hadn't remembered that. Then again, she didn't remember a lot of things.

She zoned off in the archway. Her eyes shut and she took a deep breath in. She let it out. In. Out. This repeated. She didn't want to open her eyes. Everything was too complicated. Why hadn't Anderson kept his mouth shut? Why hadn't she been allowed to continue living her lie?

When her eyes fluttered open, she caught him with his tongue in her mouth. God. They liked to touch. Had that always been the case? Had he touched her that much? Had he loved her that much?

At the time, she'd thought he had and they'd been teenagers then. She wasn't aware anyone touched more than teenagers, but low and behold. Taylor and Ryan were ready to upset all her notions of what love meant, what public affection was appropriate. Not that this was public exactly, but if they acted like this in front of their family, she could only imagine what they were like behind closed doors. Not that she wanted imagine that. No. That was the last thing she wanted.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around.

"Hey Coop." The voice greeted, it was smaller than it should have been. Summer was twenty-six. She was twenty-six and had a three year old daughter. She should have been more boisterous than she had been when they were fifteen on the beach in Newport. Marissa understood though, knew she turned everyone to stone around her.

Everyone except Taylor and Ryan that was. She glanced over at them. If he touched her again she was going to lose her mind. She understood he wasn't hers anymore, but last time they'd seen each other he'd been no ones and of all the people she could see him ending up with, Taylor wasn't even on the list. In fact, Taylor was the antithesis of everyone on it.

"Hey." She sighed looking Summer in the eye.

"Do you want to help me set the table?" Summer awkwardly ran a hand through her hair and nervously bit her lip. Why was she so nervous? They were best friends weren't they? In her absence they'd never stopped being best friends. Had they?

"Yeah." She grabbed some silverware from the mantle and walked outside with Summer. She looked at the table. God it was a huge table. It was one you'd see at Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving in June. She chuckled. That must mean she could expect Christmas in July. "How many people are we expecting?"

"Um. Well, let's see. There's you, Seth, Ryan, Taylor, Frank, Julie, Kirsten, Sandy, Jimmy, Bullitt, Kaitlin, Isla, Aidan, Sophie, and I." She paused while she did the math in her head. "So fifteen."

"Fifteen?" Summer nodded. "Wow. All our family dinners we only had three people. Just mom, Anderson, and I. I mean, until this year. Then it was just me and Anderson."

"Anderson?"

"He's my brother. Was my brother? I thought he was my brother. I don't know."

"He must have." Marissa watched the amount of attention she paid to the place setting. She didn't want to look up. Didn't want to look her in the eye.

"Must have?"

"Known. That you weren't his sister. That you weren't Cassidy."

"Yeah. Well, it's not his fault. He was really young and mom, she was very." Marissa searched for the right words. "She wasn't all there. He told me when he could, told me when he didn't have to worry about losing her. And knowing her, knowing the history there, if I were in his shoes, I would have done the same. I am just grateful he told me at all. I mean, I guess I am."

"You guess?" Summer managed to look up. The hurt was apparent in her eyes.

"I didn't mean that."

"Marissa, stop. You don't have to lie to me. I know we had an awkward moment when I was upset that you couldn't remember your birthday, but I didn't mean that. I didn't. I want you to honest. Even if it hurts. Friends are honest."

Marissa noticed the sincerity in her eyes. "It's just, everything is so different. It's normal to all of you, but I feel like I am in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Everything is so familiar, but something about it is off. You work for the EPA? Ryan is married to Taylor Townsend? We moved to Berkeley? My mom is engaged to Ryan's dad? I am seventeen in a twenty-six-year-old's body. I can't... Last thing I remember you wanted to turn down Brown. You'd have rather gone to a party school. Now you're changing the world. I would have liked to see you change, to see you develop into this new person. But I didn't get to. It's like it happened overnight. And everything is so much different than I expected it to be. I mean other than you marrying Seth. That I expected, but still."

"Yeah, well we're pretty predictable."

Marissa inhaled the crisp air. Her hand lingered on the cloth napkin as she carefully placed a fork on the table. If she closed her eyes, she could picture herself at home in Newport. Dressed to impress. Vera Wang. Open bar. Crab and Brie phyllo. Mushroom and leek crescents. Normalcy. "How'd they get together? "

"Hmm?"

"Ryan and Taylor. How'd they get together?"

"Oh." Summer sighed. "It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"They tell it a lot better."

"I bet." She muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that they're all over each other. Always touching. I never saw Ryan as the PDA type, but the two of them… and I mean, she's pregnant."

"Well, Ryan did have a little to do with that."

"I know, I know. I just don't understand. Ryan and Taylor? Taylor and Ryan? Doesn't even sound right."

"I think part of that has to do with the fact that you don't know her." Summer said quietly.

"What?"

"Taylor. You barely know her. The two of you were barely even acquaintances in high school. And based on that you probably just see her as Veronica Townsend's offspring. This Type A weirdo. The girl that had sex with the dean that got you kicked out of school. The girl who gave her graduation speech in Latin. And she is, she is all of things, but those things don't define her. Taylor is amazing. You know? She's really special. And I think if you dropped your expectations and got to know her you'd see that. You'd see how much she means to Ryan and what a great fit they are. Because they are. Ryan is Taylor's Sandy Cohen."

"You two are really close aren't you?"

"Yeah." Summer said near mutter. She struggled to look her friend in the eye. "But that doesn't mean that we're not or that we can't be again."

"I know." Marissa shook her head. "And you're right. I don't know her."

"How could you? It's not like you had the time. Besides, you were really busy with other things senior year. I mean the whole Johnny thing and then Volchok."

"Volchok?"

"Yeah. Volchok."

"Who? … I don't remember."

"Volchok. Your ex-boyfriend. They guy who… Wait. I thought you said you remembered prom?"

"Just bits and pieces. You falling off that stage. Seth bringing Anna. You and some Korean guy. Taylor and some Korean guy. You and Seth leaving together. Ryan and Theresa. He saved me a dance though. That I remember the clearest. We danced."

"Marissa, look at me." The blonde obliged. "Who was your date to prom? Think about it."

"I don't… I didn't think I had one."

"You did. It was Volchok. Kevin Volchok." Marissa looked lost. "He's the guy who… never mind."

"He's the guy who what?"

"The guy who caused the accident. The one who drove you off the rode. You don't remember that do you?"

"Dying?" Marissa shook her head and let out a chuckle. "No. I don't remember dying." She fell into a seat at the table. "I guess I don't remember that much after all. Great. This is… just great." She started to cry. "I thought I was making progress."

"You are. You are."

"Not enough."

Summer sat down next to her and cupped her hands. "She needed a divorce."

"What?"

"Taylor. She needed a divorce from her husband. She got married in France the summer after graduation and she needed a divorce, but the guy was this romantic and he didn't want to give it to her. So she convinced Ryan to pretend to be her lover so Henri would grant it. They kissed for his lawyer. She became infatuated. She eventually convinced him to kiss her for real. He did. He fell for her. They dated on and off. Then they were on for like five months straight, but that's when everyone was living at my dad's and he just kind of screwed it up. A little because of you. A lot because of him.

"She went to France. He pined for her. She came back for your mom's wedding. They had a fun weekend. She went back to France and he went to Berkeley, but they promised they'd figure it out. They did the long distance thing for a while. Called it off around Halloween. Got back together when she came back for Christmas. She transferred to Stanford. They moved in together half way between point A and point B. They've been together ever since."

Marissa took this in. "My mom's wedding?"

"Long story. She was going to marry Bullitt, because she'd told Frank about Adian and he'd totally flipped out. Bullitt loved her though, wanted her regardless, and you know your mom, needs a man in her life. At least, she used to. Anyway, Frank interrupted the ceremony. Which was for the best, because then your brother would have been named La Joya, Odessa, or Menard. The Bullitt has like 12 kids and they're all named after the cities where he has oil refineries. Can you imagine? Menard Bullitt? Ridiculous. Plus, we go after Bullitt's little enterprise all the time at work. He's doesn't care. Says I've got spunk, but you know business and family get complicated."

"You said his name earlier didn't you? Bullitt?"

"Yeah. He's coming to dinner. He and your mom are still close. Well, actually he and your sister are really close. He's like that weird uncle you never had."

Marissa smirked. "Weird uncle? Hmm. My mom, my other mom… Harriet. That was her name. Harriet Parker. She had a brother. He'd come around on Christmas, reeking of gin. He'd ask for money. Mom would give it to him, a little anyway. We didn't have much. He'd always look at me oddly. He'd put a hand on my shoulder, lean in close and whisper, 'I'm on to you.' I could never tell if he was joking or if he was serious._ I'm on to you_. I never knew what he meant. I mean, I didn't remember him, but I didn't remember anything before the accident. I mean everything I thought I remembered I must have just made up to make things easier. I get it now though, even as drunk as he was, as unstable as he was, schizophrenic I think, he knew I didn't belong there. Knew I wasn't a Parker after all."

"How'd she die?" Summer asked nervously, watching the trance Marissa was in.

"Hmm?"

"Your… Harriet… you said she died, what happened?"

"It was Christmas time last year. Anderson had just gotten his college acceptance letter. Early Decision. He was going to Harvard. Fucking Harvard! I was thrilled, was such a proud big sister. I rushed across town during Rush Hour. He had gone out for a debate club meeting. I bought a cake and streamers. I was going to set up the house and surprise him, celebrate the way I knew mom wouldn't. I opened the door and I could tell something was wrong immediately. I felt it in my gut. I called her name. No response. Mom. Mom. No response. I went upstairs to her bedroom. Her car was in the driveway; she should have been there. I tried to open her bedroom door. It was locked. I yelled. Mom. Mom. No response. I went to the kitchen, grabbed that tiny key from the drawer by the stove, unlocked the door and pushed my way inside. She'd moved the bed out and hung herself from the ceiling fan. I couldn't believe… that's a lie."

She exhaled sharply. "I could believe it. I just didn't want to. It took me thirty minutes to call 911; I just sat there with my legs in my chest. I read her note over and over again; he was going to leave her. He was going to go to college and leave her. I didn't understand, I mean I was still there. I wasn't going anywhere. Now I get it, it wasn't the same, you know? She could dress me up like Cassidy, but in her heart she knew I was never going to be her flesh and blood. I hid the note before they got there. I didn't want him to see it. I was so worried about him but he seemed okay, for a while. He seemed okay. He stayed with me at my apartment in the city. We got along great. I took care of him. It felt normal. For once it felt like we were a normal family. And then one day after he turned eighteen, he packed his bags and moved back to the house. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't. He had this glazed over look in his eyes and he just left. I checked on him all the time, but he didn't want me around. I could tell. He was a zombie."

Summer's mouth gapped open. She sucked in air. "Marissa, I am…"

"Don't. It's fine, you know. I mean, it's not fine, but I saw it coming. She was bipolar. She never took her meds like she was supposed to. She just preferred to wallow. She said the drugs made her foggy. I think it made it harder for her to remember. She had six kids. Six kids and it was only Andy and I. Hell, it wasn't even me really. It was Andy. Kelly died in a car accident. Cassidy too, I guess. Maureen had a heart defect. Harrison had a brain tumor. Megan and dad died in the house fire. He went in to save her. Never came out. I guess the hardest thing about all this is that I feel like I should hate them. Harriet and Andy. I feel like I should be outraged, but I am not. I get it. I get why she did it. I don't want to understand, but I do and Andy? None of this was his fault."

Summer pulled her in close to her chest. "You don't have to hate them. Your mom will hate Harriet. We all will probably, but that is our thing. Not yours. You say I am this great new person, but look at yourself Marissa. You're so grown up. You were drowning in Newport. You were on your way to a bitter ending and here you are, crisp, and clean, new. Happy! I can't remember the last time I really saw you happy. Certainly not senior year. Probably not since before your parents got divorced. We had good times sure, but not times were you were free of your sadness and here you are, even with all this craziness you have color in your cheeks, a twinkle in your eyes. I missed you so much." Tears started to fall from Summer's eyes. "So much. But maybe death suited you. You're not separate from who you've been these last eight years and I don't want you to be. I like the new you."

Marissa's head was still in her shoulder. She murmured against the soft cotton covering her from collarbone to elbow, "I just miss him. I am worried about him."

Summer stroked her hair softly, like she was her daughter, her own flesh and blood. "Then call him. We got this table for my wedding. We had this big extravaganza here in the back yard. Ceremony, reception, all of it here. It fits sixteen just as comfortably as fifteen."

* * *

Kaitlin had been avoiding her. She knew it, could feel it in her bones. She'd been home for twenty-four hours and Marissa wasn't sure their eyes had ever locked, wasn't sure Kaitlin had looked at her like anything more than a test subject. She had a bachelor's in Biology they told her. When had that happened? When had she started to care about school? When had she gotten interested in science?

It wasn't just Biology though. No, it was WGSS too. A double major. Marissa wasn't sure what to be more shocked by, the fact that her sister had taken to studying life on Earth or the inequalities in society. Both seemed so unlike her. Not that she knew her. Not that she remembered all that much about her.

She confronted her on the front porch. Kaitlin had a cigarette poised between here middle and her ring. What kind of scientist smoked, she wondered. Not that Kaitlin was a scientist, they'd said something about her working for Planned Parenthood, but the path was there. She was only twenty-three. In the future she might be a doctor, a researcher, a biomedical engineer, tarred lungs and all.

"You know, those things will kill you." She said stepping out of the doorframe.

Kaitlin jumped. She looked up frightened. Marissa could tell she'd do anything to avoid locking eyes. "Haven't you heard that everything will kill you? Breathing the wrong air. Drinking the wrong water. Walking across the street at the wrong moment. Driving to the airport at the wrong time. Life is pretty delicate."

"Is that so?" Kaitlin nodded staring off in the distance, eyes focused on nothing in particular. "In that case can I bum one?" Kaitlin obliged, handing her a pack of Russian Sobranies, pretty in pastel pink. Marissa lit one and handed the pack back to her. "Are you serious with these?"

"What? If I am going to 'kill myself' it best be in style, besides everyone I know that smokes is male. They take one look at my cigarettes and never ask to bum."

"That's how I met Ryan." Marissa half-smiled. "Bummed a cigarette from him in front of our old house. Marlboros, I think."

"I remember."

"I barely do. Saying it out loud helps a little, makes it a little clearer."

"Hmm." Kaitlin took a long drag from her cigarette, held the nicotine tight within her lungs.

"You're avoiding me."

"It's nothing personal. I just don't know how to deal with this. Been pretty good at avoiding ghosts."

"I am not a ghost."

"Could have fooled me."

"Well, I am not anymore."

"I know. I've just been jealous of you for so long." Kaitlin watched intently as some ash fell from her pastel stick to the floorboards. "You were going to Greece to be with Dad when you died. I cannot remember the last time I talked to him for more than twenty minutes on the phone. Only got to see him at my high school and college graduations… well and now. Sometimes, it's like you died and took me with you. Took my childhood or my 'teenagehood' or whatever. You died, mom was depressed, I had to pick up the pieces. You died. Dad was depressed. I disappeared. You died; mom and I were two warriors on our own. Then she met Frank. Then she had Aidan. Don't get me wrong. I am happy. I love my life. I love my relationship with mom. Adore Aidan. Have come to love Frank. And it seems so silly now, you know? It all seems so silly, but I don't know. You died and got idealized, gilded and put on a pedestal. That's hard to deal with – that knowledge that you cannot live up, that you'll never live up. Knowing that dad will never think about me the way he thinks about you, about his new kid and new family. I don't know. I am just jealous and if you're alive it all feels that much more silly. Like I've felt this way for nothing. Like everything we went through we went through for nothing. Like I grew up for nothing."

"We all have to grow up sometime."

"I know. I know."

"I am sorry dad wasn't there for you."

Kaitlin shrugged. "It is what it is, you know? Besides, I always knew I wasn't his favorite. You were always daddy's little girl. I was always…"

"Independent." Marissa finished her sentence.

"Scheming." Kaitlin clarified with a scoff.

Marissa shook her head. "No. You had direction and took initiative to see that your direction was seen through. Dad and I were closer because we hid. We made bad decisions and were too scared to watch them blow up in our faces, so we hid. In booze, in delusions, in foreign countries – whatever, we hid. You don't hide. You're better than both of us."

"No, I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No." Kaitlin shook her head. Marissa watched the way the mascara slid down her cheeks and placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "I am scared that if I let you in, you're going to go away again. I can't deal with you going away again."

"Kaitlin, look at me." Marissa begged. She continued to stare off in the distance. "Please. Just look at me for a second." She hesitated, but after a minute, obliged, wiping her cheeks with her hands. "I am not going anywhere. I am not."

Kaitlin noticed that glint of sincerity in her eyes. "You promise?"

"I swear on my life."

"If that meant anything, we wouldn't be standing here right now." Kaitlin reminded her.

Marissa chuckled. "I promise."

Slowly their hands locked and they stood in silence staring at the sunset. She let her head rest on Kaitlin's shoulder. She may have missed Anderson, but God was she happy to be home. To have a home again.


End file.
